


Time to Mend

by latinaeinstein (oneforyourfire)



Category: Block B
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-14
Updated: 2018-11-14
Packaged: 2019-08-23 18:57:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,196
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16624592
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oneforyourfire/pseuds/latinaeinstein
Summary: Kyung putting his mouth to good use





	Time to Mend

**Author's Note:**

> 2013 fic repost
> 
> face-fucking

Kyung's been his best friend for 12 years. His boyfriend for 5. His lover for 4 1/2. His bandmate for 3.

He's plumbed the depths of his soul. Explored the deep, achingly beautiful crevices of his body. Weathered his moods. Memorized the intricacies of his face.

He _knows_ him.

 

And Jiho is angry when he storms into the dorm room. The squared shoulders, the worried bottom lip, the firm jaw, the distracted too-bright eyes, the clenched fists, they are ready indicators.

But Kyung _knows_ him, knows the nuances, notes the subtleties.

And it's a broad, universal, crippling anger. Aimed both outwards and inwards. Entangled with insecurity and self-loathing. Multiplying with guilt over past faults and external criticism.

 

It's Jiho's blaming himself.

It's Jiho starting to splinter.

It's Jiho being a leader even though it's too much.

It's Jiho _hurting_.

And it's fucking _dangerous_.

 

Kyung, assaulted with it as soon as Jiho toes off his shoes, shoots up from his cross-legged position in the middle of the living room floor. Jamming his foot into the gap between door and door jamb, he forces his way inside Jiho's room.

Jiho is exasperated, rolling his eyes and trying to roll out of his Kyung's persistent caress. He'd probably hate it if not for the way that Kyung's fingers are whispering over his wrist. Probably push him away. Tell him to fuck off. But Kyung is familiar, and Kyung makes sense.

His protest is reedy with its futility and lack of conviction.

"Leave me alone, Kyung," he groans. "I need to be alone."

And if it was a matter of needing to recharge his batteries, needing to pull apart the layers to make sense of all of his pieces, then it'd be for the best. But it isn't. So Kyung doesn't.

"Let me help," he counters. "Let me."

Kyung reaches forward to cup his jaw in a delicate caress. He watches Jiho's eyelids flutter shut. He curls his fingers briefly, tightening his hold to force Jiho's head downward.

Giving control to Kyung sometimes, Jiho has confessed, is easy. Effortless. It makes sense, makes magic, makes orgasms so intense his limbs tremble. And muscle memory and habit and intrinsic comfort have him tilting further to the side. Further into Kyung's coaxing touch.

Jiho sighs, breath deepening as Kyung presses a kisses to his neck and shifts to whisper. "Let me make it better," he urges. "Let me, Jiho."

Jiho lets out a breathless moan. It flutters against Kyung's lips

"Let me make you forget," as he glides one hand down Jiho's chest, rolls a nipple between his fingers. "Let me make you feel good" as he drags his fingers across the waist band of Jiho's track pants. "Let me replace" as he sucks hard on Jiho's neck, skimming his tongue in a teasing brush before scraping his teeth just _exactly_ how Jiho likes.

"Fucking stop, Kyung," he whines. "I'm mad right now."

"Let me, Jiho. _Please_." He looks up at Jiho from underneath his eyelashes, and Jiho whines, pushes his hips up, brushing his already half hard erection against Kyung's tummy.

Kyung kisses him once, squarely on the mouth, before he hooks his thumbs into the waistband of Jiho's boxer shorts, dragging polyester and cotton down as he sinks to his knees.

Jiho lets out a breathy sigh, pets Kyung with a heavy caress from hair to jawline. Kyung leans forward to kiss at Jiho's navel, mouthing soft, pale skin as he skims teasingly, traces a vein. It's hot, heavy, silky, as it rubs against his palm. Whispering quiet words of encouragement--barely intelligible "I love you's" and "It's okay, I'm here's"--and coupling them with dirty compliments—"I love your cock, Jiho. It's just as perfect as every other part of you, baby"—he strokes Jiho to full hardness. He swipes his lips against the bead of moisture already collecting at the very tip before enclosing it lightly with his lips as one hand slides to cup Jiho more fully. And Jiho cants his hips, breathes his name.

Kyung can feel the tension still trembling in his limbs, the energy thrumming in the pulsing flesh as Jiho rocks gently forward, whining brokenly as more and more disappears into Kyung's mouth.

And Kyung _knows_ him. Knows it's not quite enough yet.

"Fuck my mouth," he murmurs, imploring with heavy eyelids.

Jiho's answering moan has Kyung's own flesh stirring, hardening.

Gripping Jiho's thighs, he relaxes his throat, bracing himself.

He slurps along the underside once for good measure, dizzy on the musky taste, the hard press, Jiho's breathless "Kyung," before Jiho holds his head steady and takes him up on his offer, sloppy with his thrusts, sloppier with his confessions.

Jiho calls him beautiful, tells him that he loves him, talks about how fucking perfect his mouth is as Kyung gasps at the hot, overwhelming pleasure of velvet skin rubbing it completely raw.

He ignores the ache in his own pants, restricted and begging for attention as Jiho begins to chant his name. Because it's supposed to be about Jiho. About relieving the pressure. Diverting the passion. Turning the anxiety and anger brewing beneath the surface into something pleasurable, sating.

It's about making him come so hard, he forgets to be anxious or sad or upset or anything but his absolute happiest. Because that's what Kyung's love deserves.

Kyung widens his eyes, blinks past the tears obscuring his visions, starts moaning obscenely past the thick cock sliding in his mouth. "For me, please," he garbles between thrusts. In the pauses where Jiho presses hard just to watch the outline of his cock against Kyung's cheek. "Please, Jiho, I want it so bad. So fucking bad."

Jiho huffs, fucks forward as he tugs hard on Kyung's black strands. Hard because he's angry. Hard because of the energy and channelled aggression. Hard even though he'll probably regret this later, rub soothing circles into Kyung's sore scalp, murmuring heartfelt apologies.

Tears are streaming down his cheeks, drool is collecting on his chin. He can barely breathe, and Jiho keeps pushing harder, harder, harder.

Everything is Jiho. Jiho's cock. Jiho's needy fingers. Jiho's harsh breaths. Jiho's _pleasure_.

Jiho comes hard, messily, groaning as he arches further forward, and Kyung gasps, throat constricting, swallowing what he can, dazed at the flesh twitching in his mouth.

"Baby, baby," Jiho praises, fingers suddenly soft, almost apologetic as they caress his face, thumb away the come that's dribbled out of his mouth.

"Better?" Kyung rasps. His smirk is undercut by how wrecked and helpless his voice sounds, by how debauched he probably looks with his tear-stained eyes, come-slick lips, staring up at Jiho.

Jiho tugs Kyung up by the shoulders, kisses him hard as he slides his hand down Kyung's pants to cup him fully, relieving some of the ache. Kyung whimpers

Jiho works him hard, fast, forces orgasm with quick flicks of his wrist, rapid swipes against the crown, dirty whispers in his ears. Until it coalesces into white-hot, knee-buckling pleasure, and Kyung is spurting into Jiho's hand, moaning loudly into his shoulder.

"So much better," he hums, kissing Kyung's eyelids.

Of course it is, he _knows_ him


End file.
